


Snowed Out

by darthjamtart



Category: Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Gen, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-21
Updated: 2014-01-21
Packaged: 2018-01-09 13:59:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1146814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darthjamtart/pseuds/darthjamtart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I was promised an extraction,” Bond said. He sounded unusually petulant. Q’s frown twisted into a scowl as he opened a drawer to discover an empty biscuit wrapper and a tragic dearth of snacks.</p>
<p>“And you’ll get one. As soon as there’s no longer a polar vortex interfering with air traffic.” Q paused, halfway to the kettle, mug in hand. “Bond, is that the sound of your teeth chattering?”</p>
<p>Bond hung up on him. Typical. Q sniffed, and made himself another mug of tea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Snowed Out

**Author's Note:**

> For the Trope-Off 2014 challenge: snowed in

Q frowned at his laptop, absently adding a few lines of code to an open window. “I don’t see how that’s my problem,” he said. Hmm. His mug of tea appeared to be empty. _That_ was a problem.

“I was promised an extraction,” Bond said. He sounded unusually petulant. Q’s frown twisted into a scowl as he opened a drawer to discover an empty biscuit wrapper and a tragic dearth of snacks.

“And you’ll get one. As soon as there’s no longer a polar vortex interfering with air traffic.” Q paused, halfway to the kettle, mug in hand. “Bond, is that the sound of your teeth chattering?”

Bond hung up on him. Typical. Q sniffed, and made himself another mug of tea.

***

“I can’t imagine anyone was particularly _attached_ to Wisconsin,” Q told M, several hours later. “I mean, really. _Wisconsin._ ”

M didn’t look as if she agreed, particularly, but she also didn’t look like she was developing the migraine that seemed to afflict her most times Q was called to her office to discuss one of Bond’s missions. “Get him back here, Q,” she snapped. “I’ve already had to apologize to the bloody Americans once today.”

“I’m beginning to think we should have just let the CIA handle this one,” Mallory muttered.

“Yes, very droll, Gareth,” M replied. “Because that always goes swimmingly.”

“Fine,” Q said. “I’ll just send our invisible airplane straight through the blizzard currently grounding flights across the entire American continent, shall I?”

M frowned at him. “We don’t have an invisible airplane, do we?” She glanced at Mallory, who shook his head. “What an excellent idea for a development project, Q. Please add it to the top of your current list of priorities.”

Briefly, Q considered objecting. Very briefly. Then he nodded, shoulders slumped, and exited with a mumbled, “yes, ma’am.” Arguing, Q had learned, would only result in a longer list of impossible projects. At least Bond mostly wanted unobtrusive explosives, not physics-defying aircraft.

Back at his desk, Q discovered four missed calls and three voicemails from Bond. Sighing, he pressed play.

_Q, pick up your damn phone. In the absence of the extraction I was promised, I’ve been forced to make my own way out of this misbegotten hellhole, and I need you to redirect a train._

There was a click, Bond hanging up with his usual casual disregard for social niceties. A hand appeared in front of Q, offering a steaming mug of tea. Q mumbled a thank you as Eve seated herself on the edge of his desk to listen to the next message.

_Q, where the hell are you? The train I’m on seems to have run into a massive snowdrift and I need to know if there’s another train I could catch, preferably on some clearer tracks._

There was a muffled thud, some heavy panting, followed by,

_Never mind. I’ll call you back. And you had better be at your desk when I do._

“Or what?” Eve asked, after the click. “He won’t bring you a souvenir?”

“Or he’ll mention how useful it would be to have a submarine that can fly, or something equally nonsensical, at the next staff meeting with M,” Q said, scowling into his tea, which was actually quite perfect. He took a bracing gulp as the third message started.

_Q, if Queen and country ever demand that I go to Indiana for any reason whatsoever, remind me to politely decline._

There was a grunt, surprisingly loud in the open office, and Eve smirked, foot swinging lightly to tap on the side of Q’s desk.

_Get me the hell out of this godforsaken country, Q,_ Bond hissed on the voicemail. _Preferably while all of my extremities can still be salvaged from this goddamn frostbite!_

“Well,” Eve murmured over the sound of Bond hanging up, “I do seem to recall that 007 has a tendency to use said extremities on behalf of Queen and country.”

Q found himself rather absorbed in studying the top of his desk.

“Oh, did I win the office pool, then?” Eve asked.

Flushing, Q glanced around the thankfully empty office. “No! At least, not yet,” he admitted.

“And possibly never if Bond isn’t exaggerating about the frostbite,” Eve pointed out.

Q waved a dismissive hand. “I’ll knit him a sweater.”

“Oooh, we can start a stitch and bitch group!”

Q blinked. “You knit?”

“Knitting needles are surprisingly useful for any number of things, and you don’t have to check them on a commercial flight.”

Q considered this. “Yet again, I’m delighted to work with you and not against you, Moneypenny.”

Eve handed him the phone. “Call Bond. Tell him about the medivac I know you’ve got en route.”

“Fine,” Q muttered. “But I’m not telling him that the sweater I’m planning to knit him will also be able to open most electronic locks. He’ll be unbearably smug.”

Eve frowned. “Yes, excellent point. Never mind about the call, then. He’ll figure it out. Probably before he shoots at the medical personnel.”

“Care to bet on that?” Q asked.

“Loser buys first and last round,” Eve said agreeably. They clinked tea mugs, then sat in companionable silence, watching the temperature drop lower and lower across America.


End file.
